


Apena Mais Um Dia

by icandrawamoth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Breakfast, Doctor Combeferre, Domestic Fluff, Fic Exchange, Fluff, Food, M/M, Multi, Multilingual Character, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like every morning, the alarm goes off at 6:00 am, and Combeferre wakes to two groaning bedmates, two heads of tousled curls in his face, one black, one blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apena Mais Um Dia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grantairely on Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=grantairely+on+Tumblr).



> Written for merrymisfest on tumblr for Grantairely's prompt "Anything Enjolras/Combeferre/Grantaire fluff - be it AU or canon, as long as it’s happy!"
> 
> Here's where I admit my shameless use of Google Translate. Translations in the end notes.

Like every morning, the alarm goes off at 6:00 am, and Combeferre wakes to two groaning bedmates, two heads of tousled curls in his face, one black, one blonde. Grantaire is muttering oaths about how anyone could possibly live getting up this early every day as he slaps at the offending clock, missing it entirely each time even though it’s been in the same place on the same bedside table for years. On his other side, Enjolras sits up, looking as fiercely annoyed as one can with extreme bedhead, leans over the two of them and punches the button before wordlessly falling back to the mattress and cocooning himself under the blankets, face pressed into his pillow.

Combeferre can’t help but smile at his boyfreinds’ early morning antics, giving them each a kiss on the cheek as he carefully extricates himself from the middle of their arrangement and goes to shower. He has to be up earliest of them all to be at the hospital reviewing his patients’ files before his morning appointments.

A short time later sees him in the kitchen making breakfast as Enjolras and Grantaire stumble in one after the other and slump groggily at the table in their pajamas.

“Good morning, sunshines,” Combeferre coos as he sets plates of eggs and toast in front of them.

Grantaire stares at his blearily for a moment before digging in while Enjolras eyes Combeferre before muttering, “I will never understand how you can be so cheerful this early in the morning.”

“You need someone to get you up and cheerful in the morning,” he teases as he joins them with his own food, “or you would never make it to work on time.”

“Not all of us have to be at work at ass-o-clock in the morning,” Grantaire says darkly into his food.

“Not all of us have the luxury of being a freelance artist,” Enjolras answers effortlessly, leaning in for a kiss that finally gets a tiny smile out of the dark-haired man.

“What are you working on today, R?” Combeferre asks.

“This couple wants a mural for their wedding,” Grantaire mumbles through a mouthful of food, mood improving the longer he’s awake and the more full his stomach is. “Rainbows and butterflies and all that good stuff, easy. But later. Going straight back to bed after you too leave.”

“Well I’m glad you just want me for my food,” Combeferre says lightly. “What about you, _ange_ , anything happening at work today?”

Enjolras shrugs. “Same old. Trying to convince the mayor that yes these social issues he’s trying to ignore are just as important as the financial ones he’s so fixated on. Maybe the two hundredth time he’ll actually listen.” He huffs frustratedly, and Combeferre pats his arm. It’s an old argument.

“You’ll convince him, I know you will. We all know you’re right.”

Enjolras spares him a slight smile. “At least someone does. But you? How’s your day look?”

“ _Eu tenho um novo paciente_ ,” Combeferre tells him.

Enjolras nearly drops his forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

Grantaire’s head whips up at the same time. “ _Você sabe Português?_ ”

Enjolras looks between them, bewildered. “ _What?_ ”

“Since when do you know it?” Combeferre asks Grantaire, grinning. “I would have asked you to tutor me.” He takes pity on Enjolras and explains, “I have a new patient coming for a consult all the way from Portugal. She’ll have a translator, but I wanted to be able to talk to her in her own language at least some.”

Enjolras’s confusion breaks into a fond smile. “You know how much it gets to me when you show how dedicated you are like that.”

“I do.” Combeferre returns the smile before glancing back at Grantaire. “But you. Portuguese?”

Grantaire shrugs, munching on a piece of toast like it’s nothing. “I took a class freshman year for my global perspectives requirement and had a penpal for awhile. I remember some of it.”

Enjolras’s mouth is open a little as he flails his hand at him and demands of Combeferre, “He’s doing that _thing_ again where he downplays how awesome he is!”

“I know.” Combeferre reaches out to shove Grantaire’s arm playfully. “Someday we’ll find out all your secrets.”

Grantaire is flushing sweetly as he glances up at him through messy curls. “I don’t think so.”

Combeferre has to kiss him. “We’ll see.” He glances at his watch and groans. “For now, I’m off. You two be good, and I’ll see you tonight.”

They echo his sentiments, Enjolras pulling him down for a kiss as he heads for the door. When he’s gone, the blonde turns back to Grantaire, wondering look still on his face. “You really remember a language from a class you took all the way back then?”

He shrugs again. “ _Apenas algumas coisas_. Mind like a steel trap.”

“Obviously.” Enjolras is still mulling it over as he collects their dishes and deposits them in the sink – and notices something that shouldn’t be there. “Combeferre forgot his lunch.” He picks up the bag sitting on the counter. Empty. “Or didn’t pack one at all.”

“Probably planning on eating in the cafeteria or from the vending machines.” Grantaire is halfway back to the bedroom, clearly only one goal in mind.

Enjolras makes a face. “Hospital food.” An idea occurs to him. “How about we bring him something? Surprise him?”

Grantaire comes back to the kitchen. “He’d like that.”

“Especially if we both worked on it and all ate it together.” He gets more excited about the idea the more he thinks about it. “What should we make?”

Full of a good breakfast, Grantaire is fading again. “I don’t know. Can you even cook?”

“I can!” Enjolras insists indignantly, jerking a hand through his hair as he looks around the kitchen.

“Do your worst,” Grantaire says with amusement, draping himself sleepily across Enjolras’s back, arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder.

Enjolras savors his warmth for a moment before gently shaking him off. “I can’t do anything with you in sloth mode.” 

“Fine, be that way.” Grantaire seats himself at the table, propping his feet on an empty chair. “Bring me some vegetables and a pairing knife.”

“As you command,” Enjolras deadpans, and does so. He studies the cupboards for another moment before deciding, “Sandwiches. Sandwiches I can do.”

Grantaire scoffs behind him, but he pays no mind. Soon the counter is covered with an assortment of bread, meat, cheese, and condiments, and not long after, he’s bagging a stack of, if he says so himself, perfect sandwiches. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that sounds like Grantaire saying _sandwiches are pretty hard to mess up_.

He takes out a cooler to put the food in, adds a few bottles of water, and turns to see what Grantaire is up to. On the table in front of him is a pile of carrots and cucumbers carved into leaves and flowers and even tiny animals.

“Artist,” Grantaire reminds him before he can speak. “You’ve seen me do it before.”

“But I’m impressed every time,” Enjolras insists, picking up a cucumber turtle and running his thumb over the patterned shell. “Combeferre will love them.”

Grantaire allows himself a little proud smile before telling him, “Now you’d better head off before you’re late. Say we meet at the hospital around one?”

“I can’t wait. Have a great day, R, see you then.” Enjolras leans in for a kiss then grabs his briefcase and heads out the door.

Grantaire finishes packing the cooler, puts it away in the fridge, and finally heads back to bed.

\---

The morning goes well, Combeferre seeing various patients nearly back to back, studying test results, speaking to his nurses and a few students who are studying in his field of expertise. He nearly doesn’t notice the time has ticked past one o’clock, when he usually takes his lunch break, until the secretary calls him up to the front desk. He has no appointments scheduled for this time, so he’s not sure what to expect as he walks down the hall. Maybe a patient returning with a question the nurses couldn’t quite answer without him.

When he steps out the door into the waiting room, though, it’s not what he expects – Enjolras and Grantaire standing there, Grantaire holding the handle of their red picnic cooler.

Before he can ask what’s going on, Enjolras says haltingly, “ _Trouxemos comida_.” He glances at Grantaire, who nods approvingly.

The hugest grin spreads itself over Combeferre’s face, because his boyfriends are dorks and he loves them more than he can possibly say.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Eu tenho um novo paciente._ = I have a new patient.  
>  _Você sabe Português?_ = You know Portuguese?  
>  _Apenas algumas coisas_ = Just a few things.  
>  _Trouxemos comida_ = We brought food.


End file.
